Basile Giroux
by Cubetato
Summary: A short story in which Basile returns to the fighting ring after being robbed of house and home by his lover, Justine Florbelle.


Basile was fighting. He was always fighting nowadays, given he had nothing left. Everyone he had once loved and cared for had been taken from him by a single woman. No family, no friends, not even a career to fall back on. He was ruined, and above all, he was desperate. Desperate times call for desperate measures, though it hurt his pride to admit.

So here he was, once again, leaning against the rope of the boxing ring. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never come back to this place. It was something he'd rather have forgotten, given his past experiences. Broken bones, bruises and cuts that never seemed to end, Basile had once fought here as a young boy, so returning had brought both painful yet somewhat encouraging memories to him. In a way that was quite unexplainable, it willed him on, gave him the boost he needed to beat his opponent. Though, despite this, his doubt was soon draining away. His opponent was a muscular man who certainly didn't lack in height, nor confidence. For once in his fairly short life, Basile felt intimidated. It shamed him to even think about, though the intimidation only continued to creep on as it neared closer to the start of the fight.

And there it was. The ring of the unmistakable starting bell, echoing throughout the room. Almost in an instant the crowd began shouting, creating an uproar that caused Basile to wince. He wasn't focused, and that was his first mistake. The first blow came across his left cheek, causing him to stumble and for a few brief moments, his mouth tasted sour with blood. It was an all too familiar feeling, and for a second his mind was diverted back to his evening spent with Justine. The all too familiar touch of her lips against his, followed by a firm slap of the back of her hand. In many ways, she was just as deadly as the man he was currently fighting against.

And this scared him to no extent. A muffled sound could be heard from him as he forced himself to stand back up, having stumbled from the previous punch. The sound must have been taken as a sob, as the crowd soon began to leer at him, spitting with their disapproval. This was their money they had wasted betting on someone who was going to give up and cry, so it evidently angered them. Though this only made Basile feel worse. His head was spinning and he found it hard to focus as he drew his hands up to his face in an attempt to block, though this gesture was only followed by a yelp as yet another punch was given to his stomach. This time, however, he held himself upright, having taken one or two steps back in surprise, then readying himself for the others next move.

But he just wasn't motivated. The spark in which he had previously felt had left him. Basile felt defeated and quite frankly, he looked it, too. Red eyes from crying at night, Scraped knuckles from where they'd been bitten, and the new bruises that had already started to form on his face. His mouth oozed blood from earliers punch and it was fairly evident he had lost a tooth, that of which had been picked up by a member of the crowd to use as their sick idea of a souvenir. He was beginning to think he wasn't supposed to win from the start. He wasn't a lucky guy, nor did it appear his luck was changing any time soon. As he continued to think like this, the motivation only continued to drain, even more so as he saw his opponent near closer to him. He froze, unsure of what to do- before he urged himself to step forwards and take a punch, swinging his arm to the side, aiming for the mans face as best he could.

Though he fell short. The punch missed by a long shot, and the crowd erupted with laughter. Basile could feel his face flushing red and his eyes began to prick. This wasn't what he wanted. He longed for himself to go back to his old life, Working in his fathers business, blissfully aware of those around him. He longed to go back to the time before he met Justine. The wretched woman had taken everything from him. His family, his friends and even more so his pride.

The final punch was delivered just as the crowd began to simmer down, and this time, being weak and clearly not in the right state of mind, Basile fell backwards and landed on the floor with a thud. The room erupted with noise once again and the bell rang for the final time. The fight was over. Basile had lost. No money was earned, Nothing was gained from it, aside from the memories of things he'd once forgotten. So as he lay on the floor, his body aching all over, the blood from his mouth now soaking the collar of his shirt and the floor, Basile gave a sob. A truly heartfelt sob. His life was ruined and there was nothing he could do about it. To think, all of this because of one woman.

That one, Blindingly beautiful, woman.


End file.
